


King’s Dead

by LaughableLament



Series: Wincestmas [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12 Days of Wincestmas, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Demon Dean, Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe in Miracles?, M/M, Sacrilege
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: Long live the King.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thep0rnfairy (Jesibella)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesibella/gifts).



Dean opens black eyes and Crowley’s throat in the span of his first heartbeat. Artery spray and a red-orange deathflash, pulse fails. Ultra-high-def.

“Sammy!” Long live the King. Sound of his boots, smell of shampoo and booze under blood and sulfur and— _Sammy, Sammy. Summoning herbs? That’s pretty darkside._

“Dean, you’re… what the hell, is that blood? Is that… Crowley?”

“Kind of a reflex.” Dean feigns a face maybe reads regret. “Asshole was creepin’ right over me.”

Sam’s mouth flattens. “What did he say?”

“Mostly, gurgle-gurgle, choke-thump.”

“Dude.”

 _Oops_. Dean traces the Mark. “This thing.”

Sam nods, forehead crinkles and Dean thinks about this face in a garden of roses. “Is that… why…”

“I’m back?” Dean stands, strips his stained overshirt. “Think so.”

Sam knocks Dean’s breath out. Big long arms and his sturdy chest. Dean noses his neck crease, knuckles his spine.

“Need you, Sammy.” Winchester keepin’ a secret. Tired plot, but…

Sam groans. Gets Dean by the chin, kisses. Toppy, fuckin’ hungry way he does when somebody’s back from Hell. Handful of ass and Dean tiptoes, drags half-mast up Sam’s thigh.

Sam freezes. “You should clean up.” Whites show all around his eyes.

Right. Crowley’s blood. _Better not get a taste, huh Sammy? Don’t wanna blow that five-year chip._ Not on fuckin’ Crowley anyway. Dean’s t-shirt goes. Pants hit his ankles.

“Clean enough?”

Sam’s nose flares. Nails rake Dean’s tattoo, nipples ribs and abs. Dean can picture him, naked and stunning, draped over Hell’s throne. Dean sinks to the bed edge, Sam to his knees. Pets inside Dean’s thighs, thumbs over his balls. Breath washes his leg hairs and pulses race.

Lips scald Dean’s demon-amped dick and his moan comes out half growl. Dean leans on his palms, whiff of Crowley’s cooling corpse behind him makes him buck. Sam coughs. Spit trails to his pubes. Damn and Sam takes cock like he’s taking communion, all this reverent awe in teary eyes. Dean hand-combs, thumbs across Sam’s eyebrow and smiles. Sam rocks lower.

Still gonna have to kill Cain. Abaddon groupies’ll hunt him forever but other than that? They already took down Lucifer and Lilith. Alastair and Azazel and—

“Ohhh fuck.” Sammy makes that move, head in his mouth and tongue working the slit. Hands on Dean’s hips can’t keep him pinned but remind him enough. Dean sets a counterstroke, jacks in Sam’s mouth and more speed, more heat…

Offhand, Dean wonders if his jizz gonna juice Sam up like Ruby’s blood did. Probably not but it’d be awesome. Anyway Sammy’ll get the real deal when the time’s right. Thought of fucking Sam, feeding him, full view of court—

Come roars out of him. Lucky Sam’s otherwise occupied, when his eyes flash black. _Gonna have to watch that…_

Dean almost laughs.

*

Sam joins him by the dying pyre. “Can’t hardly believe he’s gone.”

“I know.” Dean shakes his head.

“What’ll happen to Hell now?”

“Nothin’ for a while.” Then a war’ll break out and they’ll make their move. _Game of Thrones_ -style.

Sam’s hand slips Dean’s back pocket. “Shower?” Lips brush his ear. Kid’s speakin’ his language.

Half shoving match half makeout session slows them. Trail of clothes ends just past Sam’s room. Then it’s a race. Sam kisses Dean, presses him into dry tiles. Dean registers the flash in his eyes too late. Sam twists the knob, steps back. Dean howls. Skin blisters and he hits the deck.

“Blessed the water heater while you burned the bedding.”

Dean roars.

“You reek of sulfur, you think I’m an idiot?”

Warded cuffs bite into his wrists. Dean’s power bleeds. He blacks out.


End file.
